Editor's Note: December 2005

Few things raise the ire of racers more than a course that is inaccurately measured. After all, isn’t that what a race is: a test of how fast you can run over a specified distance. If you call it a 5K, it should be exactly five kilometers long.

Knowing this, when I was asked to take over directing the local race in my small Nebraska community three years ago, one of my first concerns was to establish a permanent course (the route had changed many times in the race’s 27-year history) and ensure that it was accurate. Of course, like all race directors, I also had sponsors and city officials to contact, T-shirts to design, awards to order, pre-race press releases to write, volunteers to recruit . . . not to mention my day job. Fortunately, I had great help on the other tasks, but by the time I got to officially measuring the course, the race date was looming.

I discovered that race certification involves first measuring off 300 meters with a steel tape and surveyor nails in order to calibrate a bike-mounted Jones Counter that clicks over every few inches, then riding the course twice, while documenting everything, down to the air temperature before and after the ride. Lacking both the equipment and the time, I confess: I punted and ran the 5 and 10K courses with a GPS device. I remeasured it by GPS the second year, and it was close, although I worried about how accurate it truly was.

This year, I had the good fortune of Editor at Large Jim Gerweck coming through on his way to measure the new Mount Rushmore Marathon course in South Dakota. Gerweck has measured dozens of courses, including the 2000 Olympic Marathon Trials course in Pittsburgh, and he graciously agreed to measure my 80-runner Chase County Fair Run course. As we worked through the certification process, I mentioned that it seemed overly complex for every hometown 5K to complete. Gerweck agreed, but also maintained that the Road Running Technical Council of USATF wants “every race to be as accurate as the Olympic marathon course.” In fact, he points out that with relatively little work, it is one place where a small race like the Chase County 10K can be the equal of a major race like Crescent City or Beach to Beacon. I could have a national or world record run here, and as it turned out, on the old course it would not have held up, as Gerweck’s measurement found the GPS-measured course about 30 meters short. I’m glad that our course is now accurate, and wish I had done it sooner.

It occurs to me, however, that this is likely the most rigorously the course has been measured in the race’s history. I ran several of those previous editions, and the fact that the course may have been long or short doesn’t disturb me much. What I remember is running hard on hot summer days, racing Wayne Wallace—who usually managed to beat me—and enjoying the camaraderie of small-town racing. The exact race distance has little to do with that, and in fact, I don’t remember any of my finish times. If I had run my lifetime best at one of them and learned it was short, well, that might be different—but no one ever claimed it was certified. Perhaps the point is that there are places for exact measures and times, and places where other aspects of races can be more important.

Looking through the Marathon and Half Marathon Guide in this issue, I am impressed by how many have that crucial word in their description: Certified. It is our sport’s assurance that you will be testing yourself against the full 13.1- or 26.2-mile distance. Those races that aren’t certified tend to be trail marathons, or “on rural country roads.” Unless your only goal is a PR or to qualify for Boston, there is no need to avoid these: Go to run against the terrain and the competition, and don’t worry too much about your time. It is a great sport that allows for both types of races and the diverse experiences they provide.